


Erotic Co-dependent Sisterhood of Leather Jackets and Bloodstained Knives

by crowleyshouseplant (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-02 19:13:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/372381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crowleyshouseplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg’s the last one to make it to St. Mary’s Convent</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erotic Co-dependent Sisterhood of Leather Jackets and Bloodstained Knives

Eyes like the blacktop she guns down, hands clenched around the steering wheel like it was made of flesh and tendons and blood, rings silver and shiny under the moon, Meg can taste victory.

She’s almost there.

Her tires skid to a stop as she pulls up in front of the church, and she remembers not to slam the door cuz you never know what you’re gonna find. Her spiked boots crush the brown dead grass unholy like the earth, unholy like her, and she smiles because she’s almost there in the garden, the garden that’s paradise.

They’re all gonna go to heaven.

She can feel it like the night air seeping into her bones, making her flesh goosebump like she’s still afraid of the big bad world even though they’re both big bad wolves aren’t they, baby.

The church doors are already open like hungry mouths, so Meg slips in, her fingers dragging across the walls, envious of what they’ve seen.

She licks her lips as she approaches the room with the altar, the gatekeeper to the cage.

Stops breathing even though she likes the feel of it, the rise and fall like ebbing oceans in her chest and lungs and blood—

Steps over the threshold as she says, her voice too soft, “Father?”

The room is silent, not quite empty, but not filled with grace and light.

The walls are scorched, the shadows scooped out and hollowed clean.

“Father,” she says, louder. “Are you here?” Have you come to prowl the earth once more?

The walls whisper his name back to her.

She swallows hard, her head bowed, pushing down a lump from her throat. She would see him—when he was ready for her. When he needed her. And he would need her because she was one of the best, the very best, and hot pride curls in her stomach, almost takes her breath away if she actually needed to breathe.

Meg sees Lilith first. Crouches as she checks for the host’s heart beat, but her body lies silent and still like abandoned cathedrals, empty under their vaulted ceilings.

She stood again, frowning, tasting grace more scorching than hell lingering in the air. She shivers, closes her eyes, and sees the second body when she opens them again.

She’s kneeling beside Ruby in an instant, pulling her up into her lap by the hair, cradling her jaw and cheek in her palm. “Ruby,” she whispers, her voice hard, cracking.

Meg’s getting blood on her purple shirt, Ruby’s blood all over her hands. She doesn’t say anything—she never did before when she ran into Ruby in abandoned alleyways, all snark and fangs as they slammed each other into walls and pushed up hot and wet and eager against the towers of their flesh.

She remembers now that Ruby had never called her Meg, and cold slithers up from her gut and wraps itself around her neck, squeezes tight as she checks Ruby for the knife.

But she’s not even wearing a belt with a scabbard for it and she pushes her away, her body thudding against the ground. “It wasn’t theirs,” and her voice is too loud, echoing like bells ringing in watchtowers, and she covers her hears with her palms, the hard iron of her rings digging into her lobes.

She paces, her fingers clenching into her thighs—imagines that she’s tearing the Winchesters apart. She stops, looks up, sees stars in a hole through the roof, smoking like a beacon that’s been snuffed of light.

She’s got work to do. So she drags Lilith out of the church and into the grounds. Hitches air into her lungs when she sees Ruby’s yellow mustang in the shadows. Pries the trunk open to find a shovel because yeah she imagines it was Sam’s shovel and she smiles fiercely to her self, all lip and the sharp edge of her teeth as she plows the blade of it into the earth, and imagines burying him in dirt.

See how he likes people using his weapons against his body.

Sam is her father’s, but she just hopes that she’ll be there to see Sam be blown away like smoke under the blinding grace of Lucifer.

And Dean—well he’s fair game. Always been fair game.

Meg pushes Lilith into the hole she’s dug, then goes back into the church. Grabs Ruby by the wrists, drags her out to the brink of the hole that she’s dug. Sits down in the grass, legs splayed, elbows on her knees, temples in her palms, breath scudding against her chest.

Then she pulls the leather jacket off Ruby—buries her nose in its worn folds. It smells like cheap motel soap instead of sulphur. She climbs down into the grave, cradles Ruby in her arms as she lowers her body besides Lilith’s.

Pushes dirt over them both and smooths it over so the grave is even with the ground so that no one will ever see and disturb it before gathering Ruby’s leather jacket in her hands. She climbs into the driver’s seat of Ruby’s mustang, puts the jacket in the passenger seat.

“Our time’s coming, Ruby,” she says, hotwiring the engine. “Just you wait.”

 

 

 


End file.
